


Harrowing

by Secrethomeworkassignment



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-10-09 04:29:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20497181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Secrethomeworkassignment/pseuds/Secrethomeworkassignment
Summary: Grace and Cullen learn a bit more about each other





	Harrowing

The Commander woke from a nightmare. In his dream his veins were full of lyrium. His lungs were full of lyrium. He was drowning. Though it was over he felt terribly unsettled, and unable to return to sleep he wandered down to the garden for some air. It was a clear late summer night and the sky glittered with stars. Cullen sat down under a large peach tree, enjoying the faint breeze coming up from the mountains. The tightness in his chest receded as he breathed in the fresh night air. 

A figure appeared at the other end of the garden bearing a candle. It was the Inquisitor, barefoot, in her nightdress, her hair falling in soft waves over her shoulders and down her back. 

“Commander? Is that you?” She called softly as she drew nearer. Cullen was startled, he didn’t expect anyone else but the night watch to be awake.

“I- Inquisitor? Yes, it's me.”

Grace came and sat beside him on the low stone wall.

“What are you doing up at this hour?” asked Cullen. “Couldn’t sleep either?”

“No. The air is cloying in my quarters.” Grace smiled wryly. “Of course, the dreams don’t help.”

Of course, he thought. Cullen had taken for granted that she would suffer mage’s visitations. 

“Truth be told, I’ve been having some unpleasant dreams myself. But I suppose it's better, on a night like this, to be awake.” Said Cullen with a slight smile.

“I quite agree.” Grace answered, looking up at the resplendent night sky.

Cullen rubbed his neck uncomfortably. He rarely found himself alone with the Inquisitor outside of the safely professional contexts of the war room and the training yard.

“The stars are magnificent.” He commented, making small talk.

“Indeed they are.” 

Grace pulled a ripe apricot down from a low-hanging branch and took a delicate bite, using the hem of her nightdress to dab the juice off her mouth. She pulled down another and offered it to Cullen, who accepted with a smile.

“Do you have any tales to tell, Cullen?”

“Tales?” He asked, surprised by the request, and even more so by hearing the Inquisitor call him by his given name.

“Tell me about the Hero of Ferelden. I understand you knew her at Calenhad. I’d be curious to hear what she was like then. It will help us both take our minds off the Fade.”

Cullen was taken aback, but after a moment he smiled.

“Oh she was... Unlike anyone I've ever met. She was lovely, but such a _ strange _girl. She kept to herself. Most of the other Templars disliked her, frankly, I think they were afraid of her. But she was always kind to me. She never gave me any trouble.” Cullen let himself drift back twelve years to the Circle at Lake Calenhad. To happier times before Uldred, before it all fell apart. “You won't believe it, but she had the gall to ask First Enchanter Irving if she could study necromancy. And he let her.”

Grace frowned. “That sort of thing is forbidden outside Nevarra. At Ostwick those texts were kept under lock and key and no one but the First Enchanter could even look at them.”

“I know. See, she told Irving she wanted to learn ‘about’ death magic in order to counter it with her healing spells. He believed her, and so did Knight Commander Gregoir until she returned when the Circle fell and started raising corpses. In any case, she spent entirely too much time in the Circle’s morgue. I suppose it served her rather well in her vocation as a Warden.” 

Cullen sighed, reminiscing. “She was a bit frightening, but I admired her. Maker, that was back when I used to think I looked so manly with a little Orlesian rug on my chin…” He rubbed his face where the goatee used to reside.

Grace giggled, looking scandalized. “You didn’t.”

“I did. I’m surprised Gregoir let me keep it, it was _ not _ regulation.”

“Did you know Warden Alistair as well? You must have been boys together at the chantry.” Grace asked.

“Oh, I did. The king's bastard. He lived up to the bastard bit.” Cullen immediately realized how insensitive that was. “I- not that there's... I didn't mean to imply that that was-” 

Grace simply smiled and watched him dig himself deeper into his word hole for a moment before granting him a reprieve. 

“No offense taken. Please, go on.” 

“Alistair wasn't a bad sort, but he never took anything seriously, and it drove me mad. He would fall asleep while we sang the Chant of Light and snore like a nug. He grew up to be a great man, though, Warden Amell’s brother in arms.”

Grace gave him a searching look. “It sounds like you really cared for Warden Amell. Did that worry you? Weren't you afraid you would have to hurt her in the course of your duties?” Grace paused. “Did you ever... At Lake Calenhad... execute a Mage? Or put someone through the rite?”

Cullen took a long look at Grace before speaking.

“No. Not at Calenhad. But I was present at Mercy's harrowing. I was the knight selected to strike the killing blow if she succumbed.” 

Grace was quiet, so he continued. 

“Maker, I remember being so afraid. I’d always hated that duty, but it had never felt so... personal before. The possibility, however small, that the day might end with her death at my hands was... appalling. I thought I would be sick the whole time, until the moment she opened her eyes. What about you, Inquisitor? I… imagine you were well liked in your Circle. Your harrowing must have been a trying experience for everyone.” 

“It was. It was all rather touch and go for a time. They thought I wouldn’t make it.”

“Do you remember anything about that day?”

“Well it wasn’t _ that _ long ago. But all I have from the Fade is… feelings. Images. Something trying to slip its fingers underneath my skin and crawl inside. I was given the standard Fade treatment, you know- promises… threats… squelching noises… The one thing I remember clearly is waking up.”  


The harrowing chamber in the Ostwick Circle of Magi lies at the top of the highest tower. Light streams in through stained glass images of Andraste’s life and dapples the intricately tiled floor. 

Six enchanters stand around Grace- one of them hooded. Three templars including Iman and Knight Commander Bremer stand watch behind them. One of the enchanters, an older man, speaks.

“She’s under. It won’t be long now.”

Grace is lying on the floor in the center of the circular chamber. She twitches, murmurs, turning onto her side and curling up.

First Enchanter Lydia watches her, twisting the the edge of her sleeve anxiously in her hands.

“It's found her.” She says. 

“Good.” Says another enchanter. “This should be over quickly.”

Grace is murmuring, talking to someone in her dream. 

“What... I know you. I know what you…” 

“Good girl…” Lydia whispers under her breath, watching her student’s closed eyes dart back and forth.

Suddenly Grace lets out a scream. “Do not touch me!” She cries. 

Knight Commander Bremer glances at Iman, his hand falling to rest on the hilt of his sword.

“You’re a liar... “ Grace accuses some unseen force. “I know what you want…” She wraps her arms tightly around herself and curls into a ball. “No.” She’s screaming now. “NO!”

As Grace continues to scream, the hooded enchanter rushes over and takes the young woman in her arms. 

“Enchanter Durand, step away from the candidate.” Orders Knight Commander Bremer. 

“Just give her a moment!” Pleads Ardeth Durand, gathering the girl up so that her head is resting on her lap rather than the cold tile floor. 

Grace is raving. “Please... Please My Lady help me. Lady help me. Don't let it in. Help me and I'll serve the Maker all my life. Lady please...”

Bremer seems to reach a moment of decision. “Enchanter Durand! I won't ask you again. Knights, hold your positions. Wait for my signal. Iman, you know what to do. It's perfectly clear she's not-”

“She's waking up!” cries Ardeth.

Grace opens her eyes and sees someone gazing down at her. She thinks in that moment that it is the most beautiful face she has ever seen. 

“Andraste? You heard me... You heard me and you came…”

“Darling, it's me. Grace, can you hear me? Do you know who I am?” 

Knight Commander Bremer approaches the enchanter and tries, with as much delicacy as he is capable of, to separate her from her daughter. Ardeth doesn’t resist. The relief has made her tractable. 

“It's over, Gracie.” She whispers as Bremer pulls her up to her feet. “You did it. You're a Mage now. I always knew you would be.” 

“Iman,” says Bremer, “take the mage to her quarters.”

Lydia comes to lay a hand on her colleague’s shoulder. “Ardeth, she needs to rest.” 

Grace is awake, but she is dazed. She tries to stand, but she stumbles. Ardeth lets her daughter be taken up in Iman’s arms.

“Darling, I'm so proud of you.” Ardeth whispers, as Grace is taken from the room.

Knight Commander Bremer pulls the First Enchanter aside. He isn’t pleased. “You didn't tell me that your guest knew Grace Trevelyan.”

Lydia regards him coldly. “I didn't think it was relevant.”

Cullen had inclined himself toward Grace to better hear her tale. He realized with a start that they were almost touching. 

“Your Harrowing was really that close?” He asked.

“Yes.”

“Thank the Maker…” He trailed off. 

He thought for a moment, attempting to locate what was troubling him. 

“Inquisitor- what did you mean when you said it wasn't that long ago, your Harrowing? Were you harrowed late... Or…”

“No, fairly standard. My harrowing was four years ago now. Just before Kirkwall fell.” 

Cullen frowned. “Inquisitor, how old are you?”

“I’ll be twenty-five in Harvestmere.”

Cullen blanched. “Maker's breath.” He muttered.

Grace raised a delicate eyebrow at him. “Why do you ask, Commander? And while we're asking rude questions, how old are you?”

Cullen coughed. “Older than that.” I'm a relic from the Blessed Age he added, silently. Cullen recovered his composure. “And your mother, where is she now?” 

“She died when the first fighting broke out at the College of Enchanters.” Her countenance was as smooth and serene as the face of a statue. She delivered this information exactly as if she was reporting that spring had been unseasonably cold this year. 

“Inquisitor... Grace, I'm so sorry.”

The mask fell for a moment as Grace smiled softly, shifting her gaze away from Cullen. “I still see her when I close my eyes.”

They are very close now, his fingers resting ever so lightly on her hand as if he's hoping she won't notice. But she has noticed, and is tracing her thumb back and forth along his wrist. 

“It's your turn again, Commander. Tell me why you decided to become a Templar.”

“Well… To begin with, opportunities for a peasant boy are limited in Honnleath.” He said with a self-conscious laugh. “My parents could give my sisters dowries, and my brother a decent farm, but the Order was the best they could hope for me. A great honor, really. I believe I told you that I asked to begin training when I was thirteen, but in truth, I had a sense of… I suppose you might call it vocation much earlier than that. ‘How’ I decided to commit my life to the Chantry is a simpler question to answer than ‘why,’ but…”

The sun sets on an evening thirty years prior during harvest time in the highland village of Honnleath. Despite the late hour (when respectable farmers should be thinking about sleep) the village is alive with activity in celebration of the annual harvest festival- a time to give thanks for the abundance of the Maker and the goodness of his creation by viewing spectacles of wonder, feasting, and getting obscenely drunk. A small fair-haired boy walks next to his father, a tower of a man balancing a baby on his hip. Two older children, a girl and a boy, trail behind. 

“When I was a boy, I used to wait all year for the harvest festival. It was by far the most exciting thing that ever happened in Honnleath, unless you really enjoyed shearing rams. I imagine you had something similar in Ostwick?”

Grace smiled. “Of course. In the Circle we would put aside our studies and practice party tricks for weeks. Charms and glamours… simple enchantments to make things seem to come to life. My friend Ines made fireworks. It was one of the precious few occasions the Chantry gave us to feel proud of our magic.”

Cullen continued his tale as Grace lay back on the stone wall to rest her head in his lap. Without even thinking Cullen began combing his fingers through the long, soft copper waves spread out over his thighs. 

“There was a local mage who used to come home from the Circle every year at harvest time just to put on shows for the children- it helped ease the villager’s fears about Calenhad’s proximity to their town. His name was Irving. He would go on to become First Enchanter Irving, but back then he was just a down-home Honnleath boy.” 

A young, jolly Irving gathers a group of children, including Cullen, at his feet and begins to conjure for them. A templar stands behind him, watchful but benevolent and relaxed. 

“I remember the first time I saw Irving do magic I was… seven, maybe eight? I was transfixed. He made a ring of wildflowers grow up around us and then disappear, then he conjured a lion and a dragon out of light and made them battle.”

The lion and the dragon spar, then reconcile, embrace, and vanish. 

“Irving’s templar even allowed himself to be levitated for our amusement. I had never seen anything so extraordinary in my life. When I took my post in the Circle I quickly learned that these had been mere parlour tricks, but it was the first magic that I’d ever seen. Later on, my father took us down to the lake to look at the stars.”

Cullen sits on the pier with his father and siblings. It's a magnificent early-autumn night, warm and clear, the sky teaming with stars that glitter on the surface of the lake. The boy gazes at the night sky, taking in the view.

“I just remember thinking”

Rutherford ruffles his son’s mess of curls. Copper for your thoughts, boy? 

“That the Maker must be wonderful to have made such a wonderful world.” Cullen paused to look down at Grace. “That was when I decided I was called to serve the Chantry.”  


The night had advanced around them, but they had been caught up in Cullen’s story, and had not stopped to evaluate the novel intimacy of her head in his lap, his fingers in her hair. The situation assessed, Grace reached up to rest a hand lightly on Cullen’s rough cheek and Cullen, self-conscious but fearing he may never have another opportunity, gently lifted her head, bending down to kiss her. 

A shadowy figure appeared across the garden. The would-be-lovers were arrested before their lips had the chance to meet, alerted to an alien presence close at hand by the sound of running water. Neither could remember there being a fountain in the Skyhold courtyard... 

Grace and Cullen, suddenly aware that they were not alone, looked toward the source of the interruption to see a profoundly inebriated Inquisition soldier relieving himself a few metres away. The soldier, for his part, realized he was being observed and made a valiant attempt to tuck his piece away, stand up straight, and look professional. 

“Halt- who goes there?” He demanded with a hiccup, straining his eyes against the darkness. He was more than a little surprised to make out the startled faces of his most senior command. “Er- evening, Commander… Inquisitor…”

The soldier was, to say the least, confused by the situation he had stumbled into. 

Cullen cleared his throat. “Good evening… Jenkins?”

“Jim, sir.”

“Good evening, Jim”

An uncomfortable silence reigned_ . _

“Can I be of any assistance, Commander? Your Ladyship?” Jim offered gallantly.

“Er, no, soldier. Carry on.” The Commander replied. 

“Do avoid the ramparts.” Grace added.

“Yes, Sers.” With a start, Jim remembered to re-button his trousers. “I’ll just be going, then?” He queried uncertainly. 

“Yes. Do that.” Answered Cullen. 

“Right. G’night, Your LadySer. Lady Inquisistor. Ser.”

“Good night, Jim.” Answered Grace. 

As Jim stumbled off into the darkness, Cullen regarded the Inquisitor with a sudden embarrassment. 

“Well. It’s…late.” 

Grace made a polite noise. “Indeed it is.”

“We had best…” He trailed off.

“Of course.” Grace got up to return to her quarters.

“Can I expect to see you at the war table first thing tomorrow? I think it’s best we get an early start. We have a lot of ground to cover.” 

Grace nodded. “Duly noted. Sleep well, Cullen.”

“Likewise… Grace.”

The Inquisitor disappeared back into the castle, leaving Cullen on his own again in the garden. He got up to return to his small tower room, but he paused before starting off. He looked up, and smiled at the sky full of stars. 


End file.
